


Truth in the Blood

by JodyNorman



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: Family, romania - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margo's family learns the truth about her job and her life.  Will they forgive her and let her live her life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Good To Go #1

Lying under his car, Matt felt the shadow fall across his legs and smiled. "Just put the pizza down; I'll be right out to pay you," he called.

"Sorry," said a dry, familiar voice. "I don't deliver pizza."

Matt sighed and dug himself out from under the Corvette. "You're going to scare off my lunch, Trout."

"Think of it as an exercise in discipline," answered the older man, smiling faintly as he led the way inside the Silver Star.

"Who needs it?" muttered Matt as he followed, his wistful backward glance catching a pizza truck turning into the hotel parking lot.

Once inside the building, though, Trout's expression shifted to a completely serious one, and Matt took the folder from him without a smile.

"Romania?" Matt asked, glancing up from the papers.

Trout nodded. "Terrorists took over a conference being held there. They're obvious amateurs, but we need plausible deniability to take them out."

Matt closed the folder and dropped it on the bartop. "Why the big fuss? Sounds like a Special Forces team should be able to handle it without a problem. And Romania's an ally."

Trout shook his head. "An ally, yes, but it's essentially a new country, Matt. They don't want foreign troops on their soil, so it has to be you."

Matt leaned back against the bar with folded arms. "Why? What's our interest in this?"

Trout sighed. "The conference has quite a few Americans attending, but more than that, it's serving as a cover for us to meet with the Russians to discuss their economic problems."

Matt blinked resignedly. "And I take it that Romania isn't allowing Russian forces on their soil, either."

Trout's negative headshake was firm. "No, to put it mildly. And before you ask, the Romanian forces haven't been trained to deal with terrorists." He saw Matt's surprised reaction, and shrugged. "We're in the process, but they're not ready, not yet, so…"

"We're it," said Matt bluntly.

"In a nutshell."

Matt picked up the folder again and flipped through it. "Well, it doesn't look too bad." He glanced up in time to catch Trout's grimace, and his gaze hardened. "What is it?"

"There's a complication…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _A simple mission_ , Matt thought as he watched his team study the details of the plan. _In and out, should be no problem_. He saw Margo glance up at him, aware that something about this situation was bothering him. He saw the others' surreptitious glances and sighed silently. They knew, too.

"Clear, people?" he asked crisply, his gaze sweeping around the group.

Benny Ray caught his eye, the questioning look clear. Matt shook his head slightly, and his second-in-command shrugged, accepting the silence. If he needed to know it, he'd be told.

"Copasetic, Major," the sniper said easily, drawing back from the table as the others followed his lead and started to head off to their various tasks.

"Margo, stay a minute?" Matt said quietly, catching the almost imperceptible reactions of the other team members as they heard him.

Margo's eyebrows went up as she joined Matt in his office. She looked at him warily as he sat on the edge of his desk.

"Margo, you might want to sit this one out."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Why?"

Matt glanced away, then back. "Because your parents are presenters at this conference."

Margo blinked, and Matt watched her seriously. He'd never seen that particular look on her face, although it resembled the expression she'd worn when he'd startled her during their reunion meeting months ago.

"Why would they be there?" she asked softly, then answered her question before Matt could. "Because they're professionals who escaped from Romania, and now they can act as examples to its people."

Matt nodded.

She drew a breath, then released it. "No, Matt. I'm going."

The major frowned. "Margo–"

She looked at him squarely. "Matt, I'm not running out on the team because I'm afraid of what my parents will say if they see me there."

"We'd understand," Matt said softly. "It's a simple mission, in and out. We could handle it."

"I couldn't," Margo said simply.

"And your… personal involvement won't–"

"I know what my job is, Matt. I can do this."

Matt sighed. "It's your call."

"I'm good to go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Okay, people," Matt said softly, gaze sweeping around the group crouching behind the hedge of the Romanian hotel. "This is it. C.J.?"

"Charges set and ready to go, Major," replied the Brit, holding the remote detonator in one hand.

Matt nodded. "Good. Chance, the Romanian officials have promised to keep everyone behind the barricade you set up."

The big black man nodded and Matt continued. "Once the diversionary charges are blown, we'll go in. Benny Ray, C.J., you'll both be with me in the first group, Chance and Margo in the second. Everyone know your routes?"

They all nodded.

"Okay, this should be a simple room-clearing exercise, people, in and out." He paused, gaze on the Brit. "Do it, C.J."

The Brit depressed the button, and a series of explosions ripped through the air. Smoke and dust billowed from the front of the hotel, and Matt's "Go, go, go!" followed close on the echoes, as he and Benny Ray and C.J. zigzagged their way into the hotel's main back door, Chance and Margo right behind them.

Once inside they split up, each group heading to different routes. Matt led the other two to the more major one, relying on their respective service training in room clearing to deal with more potential targets, while Chance and Margo took the back ways into the hotel, clearing out the lesser traveled hallways.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo relaxed into the familiar adrenaline-surge, focusing on the mission and the moment, and managing to forget the worrisome presence of her parents. The two of them swept through three empty offices before finding a room that was occupied, and the single terrorist holding a nervous gun on ten hostages fell dead before the door banged against the wall behind them.

"Get down! Stay down and be quiet!" yelled Chance as they headed toward the other door. Margo repeated the words in Russian and Romanian, and they were through the door and into another occupied room.

It was Margo's turn to burst in first, closely followed by Chance, each ducking to opposite sides of the door as bullets spat at them. Chance's weapon barked, and the terrorist firing at them fell. Margo ducked a last bullet and sent a precise shot into the head of a second man obviously set to gun all the hostages down as his last act. He jerked, the gun falling from limp fingers, dead before he hit the floor.

"Get down! Stay down and be quiet!" they both yelled, and Chance led the way through the door to the hallway, Margo right behind him.

"Misha?" a voice said uncertainly from behind her, and Margo reacted automatically to the endearment, a pet name from childhood, glancing over her shoulder before she caught herself.

Then they were in the hallway, shots echoing ahead, and she had no more time to think of the past, or the future.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo climbed into the van, swinging the back doors closed and seating herself between Benny Ray and Matt as the driver started the vehicle. A busy bubble of post-action talk swirled around her, but she sat silently in its midst.

Matt glanced down at her in a pause, cocking an eyebrow. "You okay?" He caught her sober mood, and his smile died. "Your parents?" he asked lowly.

She looked up at him, then around at the suddenly attentive and silent group, whose eyes were all on her. "They saw me," she said bluntly.

Matt drew in a breath and held it, then sighed. "Damn it."

"What about your parents?" C.J. piped up, avoiding the jab in the ribs from Chance and Benny Ray's hard look.

Margo sighed. Trying to keep secrets in this group was next to impossible, and she'd long since given up trying. But she'd never expected to have to share this part of her life, and her sense of private space made her wince at the question.

"None of your business," growled the sniper, his gaze hard on the demolition expert.

"That's right," said Chance solidly, looking at Margo with a quiet support.

"All I asked–" began C.J.

"Enough," said Matt. "Leave it alone, C.J. If–"

"They were there," said Margo, deciding to get it over with.

"Your parents?" said C.J., just beating Benny Ray to the punch.

Margo nodded. "They were Romanian citizens who defected to the U.S. when I was a child. They were presenters at the conference."

"An' they saw you?" Benny Ray asked softly.

She nodded.

He shook his head. "Ouch."

Chance frowned. "You mean they don't know what you do?" He held up his hands against the looks he got. "I don't mean, do now. But you weren't exactly a housewife before the team, either."

Margo's lips quirked. "No, my parents think I'm a diplomatic attaché, working in Washington."

C.J. snorted. "Not any more, they don't." He yelped as the force of Chance's fist and Benny Ray's shove met in his small frame. "Hey, hey, I was just makin' an observation! Nothin' wrong with that!"

"All right," said Matt as the truck stopped, the noise of airplane engines wafting in as he threw open the back door. "Enough talk. Everyone out, we've got a ride to catch!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Heads up," Trout said dryly. "Incoming."

Matt hefted the receiver to his other ear and straightened, leaning against the wall.

Benny Ray looked up from cleaning his gun at the nearby table, his gaze questioning on Matt's face as his team leader grimaced.

"They found her?" Shepherd asked.

"More to the point, they found me," Trout answered. "Doesn't she answer her phone out there?"

Matt took a breath. "We left for a three-day survival hike across the Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range."

Trout chuckled. "Taking a page from SEAL training, Matt?"

Matt shrugged, noticing the small grin on the sniper's face at his comment. "I thought we needed a little workout; getting rusty. Besides, it was an opportunity to hone our room clearing skills; they looked a little rusty, too."

Benny Ray's smile faded and he looked faintly indignant. Matt grinned.

"Well, she didn't answer her phone soon enough, so they flew to Washington to talk to her."

"And she wasn't there, of course."

"Of course not. The mailbox company she gave them as her address wouldn't say where they forwarded her mail to, so they went to the State Department–"

"Who didn't know who they were talking about?" Matt asked, his lips twitching into a slight grin.

"Exactly. But it rang bells, so they were sent to me. And I sent them to you."

Matt straightened, the smile fading. "You did what?"

"Hells bells, Matt, what was I supposed to do? They're her parents, not her enemies. I had to give them her current address."

"And her current job?"

Benny Ray straightened, his mouth tightening.

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" Shepherd demanded.

"It means, not exactly. I gave them some flowery rhetoric about her serving her country in an appropriate fashion. They bought it for the moment, but I don't think it'll hold past their leaving this building."

Matt let out his breath. "So they're on their way."

"That," said Trout dryly, "would be my educated guess."

Matt shook his head and smiled humorlessly. "Guess I'd better go check the airline manifests."

"I took the liberty of inquiring," said Trout. "Flight number 471, Continental, arriving day after tomorrow at ten a.m."

"That late?"

Trout's shrug was guileless and evident, even over a phone line. "All flights to California were booked for the next twenty-four hours."

"Uh huh. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you? No, scratch that, of course not."

"Keep me informed," Trout said seriously. "And good luck."

"Thanks," Matt replied, sighing. "You sure you don't have a mission for us in the next few days?"

"Before ten a.m. Wednesday? Sorry, Matt. Around the weekend, possibly. I'll talk to you then."

There was a click, and the dial tone echoed in Matt's ears. He punched the off button and set the phone down on the counter, frowning.

"Trouble, boss?"

Matt filled Benny Ray in, finishing with, "And we'd better inform the whole team about this – I don't want anyone going off half-cocked and saying something to her parents that we might all regret later."

Benny Ray nodded seriously. "You know, Major, I'd hate to explain my life to my mother."

"Amen to that, Benny Ray," Matt sighed, pushing off the wall. "I'd better go find Margo."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo sat on the beach and stared out at the ocean, her gaze following the incoming waves until they crashed on the sand a few feet from her. She took a breath and grimaced.

Tomorrow… They were coming tomorrow. _Damn_.

She thought back across her life, memories running through her head – recruitment by the CIA, France, Russia, Germany, Noah. She shook her head, old grief rising in her. She'd been a "diplomatic attaché" in Germany, too, her parents proud of her station. She'd told them about Noah, but the complexities of their relationship had remained a secret. Her parents had grieved his death with her, but the truths that had made their love what it was had died with him, and she had not been able to share them.

She had moved on to become a freelance arms dealer, though she had her own codes concerning what she would sell and to whom. The corporate espionage jobs she'd taken at the same time had filled in the gaps that arms dealing left, and she'd gone on with her life, dealing with Noah's death and her own changing circumstances, determined to work alone, depending on no one but herself.

And then Matt had invited her to join the team, and her life had changed again. She would never be able to tell him, or any of them what it meant to her to be part of such a group, but she was happier now than she'd been in a very long time. The work was everything she'd ever wanted, and her teammates had become friends and, to some extent, brothers in a life she fully intended to enjoy until she died.

Something else she could never explain to her parents. Margo's mouth quirked as she thought of how her team members would look to the parents, then sobered as she thought of how she would look to them – a stranger, dangerous and foreign. This time, she could not afford to wear the mask she'd worn home every time she'd visited. She sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin on them.

Across the years, her life had become something very different from the descriptions she gave to her parents, and the stories she'd created only widened the distance between them, though Margo didn't believe they'd felt it. They thought of her as living the innocent, comfortable life that they had fought for her to have, and, understanding that, Margo had been careful not to disturb their fantasy. She told them of vacations taken, of successes and defeats at work, using stories she learned from friends in diplomatic careers, and described her life as fulfilling and, above all, safe.

And now it was over. She couldn't tell them all the truth, even if she wanted to – like it or not, much of it was "need to know" and they didn't – but they'd be able to make a good guess. And they'd see her as who she was, at last, and though the thought was a relief in some ways, the inevitable arguments and assumptions and well-meaning but misplaced worry was not something she looked forward to.

They would want her to inform them of her schedule and her health and her status on a regular basis, and she had no intention of doing that. Actually, she thought resignedly, their first act would be to tell her, in no uncertain terms, to stop what she was doing. Or at least her mother would. Her father would beg her to tell him it was all a mistake, either on their part or hers, but he, too, would expect her to halt any dangerous work she was doing. And that would lead to the first argument.

It was strange, and sad in a way, that she could handle killing people, risking her life and those of her teammates in a variety of deadly situations, much more easily than she could visualize facing her parents. _I guess_ , she thought wryly, _that there's always a part of us that never grows up. But what am I going to tell them? How do I show them who I am in such a way that they'll accept it and leave me alone to live my life?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Matt heard the car turn in to the parking lot behind him, and straightened, avoiding the raised hood of the Corvette with practiced ease. He took a breath and turned, watching as Mr. and Mrs. Alexandrescu climbed out of the taxi. Margo's mother bent to hand the driver some money, and the car revved, then backed up and swung out.

Mr. Alexandrescu walked toward Matt, his eyes uncertain. Matt remembered him as a gentle man who adored his daughter, and he was sure that the physicist was not looking forward to the confrontation ahead.

"Hello," the man said uneasily, "we're looking for Margo–"

"Hello, Daniel."

The scientist blinked, then stared at the major, recognition dawning. "Matt? Matthew Shepherd?"

The team leader smiled, watching Olympia Alexandrescu step purposefully toward them. He held out a hand, and Daniel grasped it, pumping it with growing enthusiasm.

"Olympia!" he said as his wife joined them. "It's Matt Shepherd, of all the coincidences! Maybe he can help–"

"I imagine it's not a coincidence at all," Olympia said dryly as she looked the major up and down, noting the man's fitness and alert stance. "Is it, Matthew?"

"No, ma'am," said Matt soberly, releasing Dan's hand as the man blinked at him, shocked. "It's not. I'm the leader of this team."

"So we have you to thank for this outrage," she said tartly.

Matt's eyebrows rose. He had always admired Olympia Alexandrescu. She was a strong woman and an excellent physician. She also had a wonderful bedside manner, as he'd found out a time or two when a friend of his had been under her care. This was obviously not one of the times she'd be using it. "Margo is an extremely capable operative, Olympia–"

"That's Mrs. Alexandrescu to you, Major Shepherd. Right now, the fact that you dated my daughter once does not entitle you to familiarity!"

"Now, Olympia, please–"

"Enough, Daniel! We have a daughter to speak with, and I intend to do it. Major, take us to her immediately."

"This way, ma'am," said Matt neutrally, turning to lead them. He saw a flash of movement in the doorway, and knew one of the team was on his way to warn Margo.

He led them through the hotel, momentarily glad that the planning and day room, with all their armament and equipment, was downstairs and not visible. Stopping outside Margo's door, he raised his hand to knock.

"You mean that she lives here?"

"We all have rooms here as well as our own apartments in the city," Matt said and knocked, opening it at the firm invitation from the other side.

Margo was standing at the window, where she'd obviously watched her parents arrive. Briefly, her eyes met Matt's, and he saw the tension there. He smiled at her and saw her relax slightly, but her stance of readiness didn't shift, and his lips quirked faintly.

Silently he ushered her parents in and glanced at Margo, his hand on the doorknob.

"Close it," said Olympia curtly.

Margo shook her head, and Matt left the door open, quickly heading down the hallway. Already the voices were rising and he shook his head. Margo certainly got her temper from her mother.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_"You will stop this business immediately!"_

_"Baby, we're just trying to protect you–"_

"Baby?" C.J. asked softly, his eyes wide as the angry voices echoed down to the dayroom.

Chance shook his head, remembering the grim woman who had pistol-whipped Vlady in Bosnia. "Not that lady."

_"It's too dangerous; you can't know what you're doing!"_

"Oh, man," muttered Chance, glancing up from cleaning his knives.

As the voices rose, echoing into his office, Matt sighed, giving up the useless attempt to catch up on his ever-present paperwork. Pushing his glasses up to his forehead, he rubbed his eyes and sighed again, then dropped the glasses onto his desk and stood, stepping out into the dayroom.

The others glanced up as he joined them, dropping into one of the chairs tiredly.

"Major," Benny Ray said mildly, "she's goin' t' be furious when she walks outta there, ya know. If any o' us said this kind 'a thing…" He trailed off and shook his head, remembering Margo accepting Chance's knife to ostensibly castrate the man who had whipped her on Grand Camore.

Matt sighed. "I know. But they're her parents. They're worried about her. Under the circumstances, they're entitled to be angry."

"I hear she wasn't the only one they were angry with," said C.J. slyly from his relaxed position in another chair.

Matt grimaced. "That's putting it mildly."

_"We just want what's safe for you–"_

_"And what're you doing with them!"_

This time all four men sighed. Benny Ray looked through the sight of the automatic he was cleaning, then lowered it and chambered a round.

"Now, you wouldn't be thinking of using that, would you, Benny Ray?" said C.J., grinning.

"Nope," said Benny Ray, pulling a box of bullets toward him and starting to inspect them.

Matt's lips quirked, and he and Chance exchanged amused glances. Benny Ray's attitude toward Margo was that of both a fellow comrade and a Southern gentleman, and right now, both were feeling the urge to protect her.

"This is her fight, people," said Matt, sobering. "We just have to do our best to help her parents understand that she's up to it, if we get the chance."

"And we just might," said Chance as a door slammed above, footsteps they all knew echoing down the stairs and out the front of the building. The voices died uncertainly.

"Incoming?" asked C.J. quietly.

"Possibly," said Matt softly. "If so, everyone keep your temper – just remember how _your_ parents would feel if you had the bad fortune to run into them on a mission."

"Rather not, sir," said Chance as two sets of footsteps paced uncertainly down the stairs, hesitating at the exit to the building's entrance, then continuing down toward the group.

"Definitely incoming," Benny Ray said with certainty.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Damn it, why can't they let me go!_

Margo walked down the beach, angry spurts of sand marking her passage. _Damn, damn, damn. They don't realize what it took for me to get this far, to do what I do, and they don't care!_

 _How could they know?_ her saner side asked quietly. _After all, they just want you safe_.

_I hate being protected!_

Although that wasn't _always_ true. She was very glad to have her teammates at her back, protecting her safety as they did their own, but that was different.

She'd fought all her life against the first impression people had of her – that of a small woman. She grimaced. _Face it_ , she thought wryly, _a small, intelligent, beautiful woman_. She had practiced, and trained, and studied, so that she could defend herself in most situations, in many different ways. Now she'd managed to build herself a place where she was appreciated for who and what she was, and she wasn't going to lose that.

She gritted her teeth as she stepped over a dune, absently noting the church ahead. She hated feeling trapped, and that was how she felt – cornered, damned if she did, damned if she didn't.

Turning into the entryway, she wandered into the church, automatically noting the emptiness of the sanctuary. No one there, and that was good.

She stepped into a pew and seated herself, relaxing into the silence.

The scuff of a heel warned her a few minutes later, and she glanced up as Father Bob sat down beside her, his gaze on the candles burning to the side of the alter. She looked at them, too, at ease with the former military man as she never would be with an ordinary priest.

"Want to talk about it?" he said softly a few minutes later.

She sighed and didn't answer. Neither did he, and the comfortable silence continued.

"Does this fall under the seal of the priesthood, Father?" she asked eventually.

He glanced at her. "If you mean the confessional, certainly."

She shook her head. "I don't need to confess."

"I didn't think you did," he said equably. "But if you need the confidentiality of the confessional, it's yours."

She nodded and stared at the candles for a while longer, and Father Bob sat silently beside her, as peaceful as the flames burning straight and tall in the alcove.

"Last week," she began finally, "we cleaned out some terrorists who'd taken over a conference in Romania."

He shifted his gaze to her as she started to tell the tale, and heard her through without interruption.

"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully when she finished. "Sounds like you're angry."

"I am," she said grimly. "They're trapping me in my childhood, Father, and I can't handle that."

He looked at her and smiled. "Margo, everyone is always a child to their parents. There's no growing out of that."

She took a frustrated breath as he continued. "But you have to admit it was quite a shock for them. They sound like they'd accepted your adult life as you'd presented it to them, and that's quite a different story than the life you've just shown them. When you sent that bullet through the man about to kill them, you also put a bullet straight through the daughter they thought they knew."

She looked down. "I never thought of it like that."

He studied her. "Margo, you're one hell of a deadly lady, and essentially you just told them they were strangers. Right now they're afraid that they'll have no place in your life, that they have nothing to offer you, that they don't know you." He smiled a slow smile. "But they'll accept it, and you. It'll just take them a little while to see the whole person of their daughter."

Margo thought back over the anger and the frustration of the conversation with her parents, seeing it from a different angle. "I never thought they were afraid of who I was. I thought they were afraid of my getting killed."

"Sure they are," agreed Father Bob. "But that's all mixed up with trying to understand who you are and why you do what you do in the first place."

She was silent, thinking, and he continued, "Just be yourself, Margo. If this is truly who you are and what you want to do with your life, then that truth will convince them to let you go to do it."

She looked up at him, then leaned to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Father."

He stood to let her out of the pew with all the old-fashioned courtesy that Benny Ray would show, and said softly, "Just glad I could help, Margo."

She smiled up at him as she stepped past him. "You have."

Heading up the aisle, she exited the door, unsurprised when Benny Ray stepped out of the shadows of the tree that shaded the entrance and fell into step with her as she headed back to the Silver Star.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Put that away," Matt hissed as the footsteps got closer.

Benny Ray glanced up at him, then down at the gun he was buffing, the soft cloth never pausing in its practiced movements. "Major, this team and what we do, that's our lives. Margo's too. We can't hide it and make them believe it's worth doin'."

Matt glanced away, then nodded. "You're right." He rose, glancing around the room, then back at his teammates. "Be normal, people. Don't give away information that's need-to-know, but be yourselves." He headed over to the exposed pipe he used for pull-ups and similar exercises and started working out on it.

C.J. stretched and rose, crossing to a computer and dropping into its seat, quickly tapping the keys.

Chance stood and moved over to the weight bench. Lying down, he lifted the bar above his head, choosing the lighter ones used for toning rather than the heavier ones that needed a spotter.

In the space of a few seconds, the room looked perfectly normal, all of them involved in the activities of a typical day.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Olympia Alexandrescu halted on the last step and looked around the room. About ten feet ahead of her Matt was chinning himself on an exposed pipe. His gaze wasn't focused on her, and she had the sense that this was a common workout. Behind him lay an area that obviously served as a living area of sorts, with a couple of couches and several chairs, all centered around a TV.

To her left was a long table with computers sitting on the ends. A man seated at one computer looked Irish, with a certain element of the Puckish humor common to that nationality.

But it was the man who sat at the middle of the table who immediately drew her eyes, and she felt her anger at her daughter curdle into fear. This man was more deadly than any she'd seen since she'd escaped Romania, and her mind sought for a comparison. A wolf, she decided. That was what he was.

He glanced up as she stared at him, gave her a quick survey, and returned to working on the gun he held. She shivered, and quickly glanced at the other man in the room, a large black man who was lifting weights a short distance from the table. She recognized him. He'd been companion to her daughter in that terrible shootout, where the two had moved as halves of a whole.

Looking around, she realized that, despite the seeming isolation of each man, their teamhood hummed in the room like a presence of its own. And as she stared at them, she felt the place her daughter held in that teamhood, knowing without seeing it that Margo was as at home in this room and with these men as she herself was not.

"Mrs. Alexandrescu," Matt said quietly, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he approached. His gaze flicked to her husband, standing unhappily behind her, even more out of place than she was. "Daniel. Come on in," he said, gesturing to the rooms behind him. "Let me introduce you to the rest of my team."

She glanced up at him, hearing the quiet pride in the words, and said softly, "Olympia, Matt. I overreacted, and I'm sorry."

He smiled at her, leading her to the man at the computer. "This is C.J. Yates," he said as the man stood and bent to take her hand, kissing it with a grand gesture.

"My pleasure," said C.J., his accent clear, and she couldn't help smiling at the impish twinkle in his eyes as he reached for Daniel's hand to shake it.

"And what do you do in this team?" she asked straightly.

C.J.'s eyes narrowed and he glanced at Matt, who hesitated, then answered for him. "Well, Olympia, everyone here has many talents, and they're all put to use."

"Major," said the man who'd been cleaning his gun and was now standing behind the team leader, "if she's Margo's mother, I'd lay money that she likes straight talk, too."

The soft Southern accent surprised her, as did the insight. Just how close was this man and her daughter, that he should know her so well? "Just so," she said evenly.

Matt sighed. "C.J.'s our demolition and electronic surveillance expert, although Margo is knowledgeable in those areas, too." He swapped a small grin with the stranger, and Olympia watched the shared byplay in bemused wonder.

"An' my name's Benny Ray Riddle," said the stranger, stepping forward to meet her eyes as he held out a hand. "I'm a sniper."

"And my second in command," Matt added dryly.

Olympia took the man's hand and shook it, appreciating both the firm grip and his straightforward manner. He nodded at her and turned to her husband.

"And this is Jason Walker, but he prefers to be called Chance," Matt said, gesturing at the black man as he joined them. "Our pilot, among other things."

Olympia looked up at the smiling man and swallowed. "I know you. You were there…"

"We were all there, ma'am," Chance replied quietly as he took her hand, "but Margo and I were together, yes."

She shook his hand, and then turned to the group, looking them over one by one. "Please," she said quietly, "I do not understand, and I wish to. Why is my daughter here, with you, doing this kind of work? What can a woman offer you that you would wish to have her? How could a woman possibly. . .?" She shook her head, trailing off.

"Ya know, ma'am," Benny Ray said softly, "that was my feelin' at first. I thought, hell, what's a woman doin' here? She needs to know her place, and it ain't out in the field. No offense, ma'am." He glanced at Matt. "But I was wrong."

She looked at him thoughtfully, catching the small nod Matt gave him. "Please, continue, Mr. Riddle."

Benny Ray turned, leading the way over to the living area and seating himself on one of the chairs. He watched them sit down, then said softly, "You've got one hell of a daughter, ma'am, sir. She can handle herself in the field as good as any man, and I'd want her at my back any day 'a the week. Have, and will again."

"I don't understand," Daniel said humbly. "Why would she want to do this kind of thing?"

Benny Ray shrugged. "You'd have t' ask her that, sir. I can only tell you that she can hold her own. There was one time I remember, when we were rescuin' someone. He was bein' held for information. Our job was to get him out. We went in and got him, and he refused to go."

He paused for their startled expressions, then smiled faintly and went on. "Said that the man holdin' him had a diamond mine that he planned on usin' to buy guns in a few months, and if he did that, there'd be hell to pay comin' down the road. He wanted us to help blow it up." He shrugged. "Well, we sent Chance here back with him, to get him outta the way, and Matt and Margo and I went on down to find the mine."

"Why?" said Olympia intensely, leaning forward. "Why take her?"

Benny Ray looked at her steadily. "'Cause C.J. had a bum leg, and Margo knows demolitions." His lips quirked. "Said she'd taken Blowin' Things Up 101. And when we got down there, she set the charges and we hightailed it outta there before she blew that mine to kingdom come."

"There's more to that story than you're telling us," Daniel said softly.

"Yes, sir," Benny Ray replied easily. "Anything else is need-to-know, and, no offense, sir, but you don't. But Margo knew her stuff and used it, and that's why she's on this team." He stood and shook hands with each of them, then stepped away.

Olympia and Daniel looked at each other, wordless.

They shifted, looking up at Chance as he settled himself in the chair.

"It was our first mission as a team," he said quietly. "No one quite trusted Margo yet, though she'd carried her load real well so far. But at the end of the mission, things went wrong. We'd promised sanctuary to our contact and his family for the help he gave us. We didn't reckon with his culture's idea of family, and instead of two or three to take out, we got twenty-four."

The civilians blinked and leaned forward.

"Well, we'd promised, and we kept it, but it meant most of the team had to go out the same way they came in, and as Margo said, that's what General Custer did, too. I'd taken the women and children in the helicopter meant for all of us, and Margo ended up driving the bus that had the men in it over the border to safety. But she had to drop off Matt and Benny Ray and C.J. and another guy, Gunter, to deal with the bad guys on their tail. She dropped off the men, then found me and told me what'd gone down. We grabbed a ride and went back to get the others."

He looked at them gravely. "Now, she didn't have to go back with me, but she didn't even think about it, just jumped in with me and we drove back, ready for a firefight." He shook his head, then looked at them. "You should be proud of your daughter; she's doing a job that counts, and she does it real well."

He stood to leave, and Olympia reached for his arm, making him pause. "The others," she said hesitantly, "they did get out safely?"

Chance smiled, a touch of sadness in the expression. "Oh, yeah. By the time we got back to them, they'd cleaned out all the opposition, and were ready to head home. We lost Gunter, though." He shook hands with them and moved toward the bench again.

"Guess it's my turn."

They looked up in surprise, finding C.J. standing in front of them, his sober look overwhelming the hints of Irish humor.

"Well," he said as he slid into the chair, "I guess I can think of one time. Matt and Margo were working undercover, and Matt found some codes that needed decrypting. Margo was working on that, and I was with her. She was using software I'd never seen before, and I'm into that kind of thing. So I asked her what kind it was, and she told me it had some of the CIA codes, some of the SAS – the British Special Forces," he added at their confused looks, "I'm from that – some Israeli, you name it, it was in there. So I asked her for a copy. She smiled, and said sure, no problem, but then she'd have to reformat me."

He chuckled, and they smiled, some of their tension easing at the familiar sound of their daughter's dry humor. He sobered. "You know, I never asked her why she does this kind of work, but I know the reason."

"How?" Daniel asked, looking at the man and trying to understand how someone so unlike his daughter could know her so well.

"Same reason the rest of us do," C.J. said simply. "Because someone has to do this kind of work, and at least if we do it, we know it's done right, and for the right reasons."

"And what are those?" asked Olympia.

"I think that's my cue," Matt said from behind the civilians, who jumped.

C.J. grinned. "Sounds good to me, Major. Glad to meet you, sir, ma'am," he said, nodding to the two as he stood.

Matt moved around to the chair and seated himself, looking at them seriously. "I picked Margo for this team because of who she was and what she could do."

"And what's that?" Olympia asked straightly.

"Margo's our intelligence operative," Matt told her bluntly. "She has contacts all over the world, and she handles getting weapons and transportation for us. She speaks any number of languages, though at last try her Portuguese was terrible," his lips quirked, then straightened. "She's also skilled in using computers in various ways, from cryptography to satellite surveillance. She's very good at hand-to-hand, and she can handle any number of weapons as well as any man on this team except Benny Ray. She's my third in command."

They blinked at him, stunned by the list.

"I guess she gained the computer skills acting as a diplomatic attaché with the CIA," said Daniel numbly.

Matt looked at him, not without compassion. "Margo's never been a diplomatic attaché."

"But–" Daniel started weakly.

"A cover?" Olympia interrupted softly.

Matt nodded. "She was pegged by the CIA when she was in college. She became a field agent almost immediately."

"So when you met her, she was an agent already," said Olympia thoughtfully.

Matt nodded. "And a very capable one." He looked at her evenly. "I didn't pick Margo for this team because we dated once. She's my teammate, and my friend, not my love interest."

"Just what exactly does this team do?" Olympia asked, and Daniel nodded.

Matt leaned back in his chair, his look steady. "Let's just say that we work for the good guys."

"You work for the government," corrected Olympia dryly. "That's not the same thing."

Matt smiled, his chuckle growing into a small laugh. "That's true enough, but let's put it this way, we work for our country. And as freelancers, we can choose whether or not we take a job."

Daniel blinked. "You mean you're not part of the military?"

Matt shook his head. "No. We all have military backgrounds, except Margo, but we're not active duty anymore."

The two were silent, digesting this, and Matt added softly. "Margo is part of this team because she wants to fight oppression, and we do that. Isn't that why you left Romania, so that she could grow up in a free country, without fear? We fight fear, and we've won some pretty impressive battles."

They looked up at him as Matt rose, and then stood with him. "I think," Olympia said softly, "that we need to talk about this."

Daniel nodded. "We have a lot to think about. Thank you, Matt."

"And the rest of you," Olympia added, raising her voice and glancing around.

"You're welcome, ma'am," Benny Ray replied softly, and the others echoed him, watching as the two climbed the stairs.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo lay in bed and stared upward through the darkness. Late though it was, she couldn't sleep just yet. At least the day was over. Tomorrow would bring new problems, but at least the initial confrontation was done. Tonight her parents would be thinking about what they'd learned, and hopefully coming to a new understanding of their daughter, one that would allow them to deal with what she did and who she was.

She rolled over and relaxed into the mattress, smiling as she remembered her teammates earlier. She'd wondered what effect meeting her parents would have on her place in the team. Not that she was worried about losing it, exactly, but she liked it the way it was, the way she'd built it, and this… encounter might change it. And it had, but in a good way.

What her teammates had done, sharing stories about her with her parents… Wow. She almost wished she could've overheard them, but that wouldn't be fair. But even now she could feel the heat in her cheeks at the thought of what they must have said, and knowing that they cared enough about her to commit to that kind of sharing humbled her.

And the way they'd treated her when she returned, Benny Ray a shadow behind her, touched her, too. No one had said a word about her parents, but everyone had stopped by to let her know, by a look, a touch, a pat on the shoulder, or a tacit comment, that they stood behind her all the way, and that her place in the team was as solid as before her parents' arrival.

It was enough to awe her, and, safely alone in bed, she blinked back tears.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo tried not to glance at her parents. They had arrived at the Silver Star the next morning with the request that she walk the beach with them, and now it was fifteen minutes later and none of them had said a word. But it wasn't a silence of anger or frustration, rather, she thought, it was as if they had things to say and didn't know how.

"Well," her father finally said, squaring her shoulders in a move that reminded her, strangely, of Benny Ray, "I have a confession to make, to both of you, and I guess it's about time I came clean as they say."

Olympia, who'd had her mouth open, closed it and looked at him with a puzzled frown, then nodded.

"Go on," Margo encouraged quietly, a hunch beginning to bloom in her mind.

Daniel turned to face them, backing to sit on an outcrop of rock. "Well, when we arrived in the U.S., I tried to put my past behind me, to forget Romania and the conditions there. We were free, and I wanted Margo to grow up without having to look back." He looked at Margo, his gaze serious. "I wanted you to have a heritage you could understand, and I didn't want you to forget what we left behind, but I wanted this country to be your home." He shifted his seat, looking at both of them. "Then, a few years after our arrival here, the CIA contacted me."

Olympia drew a deep breath, and Margo nodded, her hunch confirmed.

"They wanted me to serve as a contact between them and people I knew in Romania, to help undermine Ceausescu's power there. They told me they couldn't promise anything overt would ever happen as a result of my information, but the help I gave them might aid in undermining the Communist regime. So I gave them names and information, and served as a contact between them and people I knew in Romania." He looked at Olympia. "They always told me it was 'need-to-know,' and I didn't want to worry you. You'd made this your home and didn't look back; I didn't see a reason to tell you something like this."

Olympia shook her head, tears in her eyes. "Oh, Daniel," she said, and leaned into his hug.

"Well," said Margo a few minutes later when her parents were calm again, "that helps to explain their interest in me in college." She saw her father's horrified look, and smiled. "Dad, they probably would've tagged me anyway; I came from a country under Communist power, I had a gift for languages, I did well in all my classes, and I was an athlete. Those were the deciding factors, not what you did. That just got them interested in me. If I hadn't measured up, nothing would've come of it."

"But you did measure up," said Olympia softly.

Margo met her eyes straightly. "Yes, I did. And I would do it all again."

They sat silently for a moment, watching the surf, until Olympia took a breath. "It is my turn for a confession," she said steadily, looking at her husband and daughter in turn. "Do you remember Mark Acrashov, Daniel?"

The man looked grim. "Yes."

Margo looked at them, puzzled. "Who?"

Daniel grimaced. "He was a member of the secret police, and our watcher. We had a feeling that he suspected that we were going to try to get out of the country, and I was really afraid for a while that he was going to stop us, but, thank God, we escaped him."

"Not exactly," said Olympia gently.

They looked at her curiously, and she sighed. "I killed him."

There was a dead spell of silence when it seemed even the surf had stopped, and then Dan pulled her into a hug. "Why–? How? When?"

Olympia backed out of the embrace and seated herself again, her expression sober. "Do you remember that last day in Romania, Misha?"

Margo frowned thoughtfully. "Not very well. Dad and I were going to meet you at the hospital. I knew we were leaving Romania, but it wasn't real until later."

Her mother nodded. "Yes, I imagine that's true. Before you got there, Acrashov found me in the supply room. He told me that he knew we were leaving. He even quoted our escape plans to me, including some of the people who were helping us. He was so unbearably smug, and he looked at me with those pale blue eyes of his, and said that he could make things easier on us all if I would--"

She broke off, color creeping up her cheeks, and Margo reached over, taking the tightly clenched hands in her own and gently opening them. "It's okay, Mom, it's over."

Olympia took a deep breath and raised her head, looking at her daughter with realization. "You have stood there, too, haven't you. In that place of horror?"

Margo met Olympia's eyes, abruptly aware of a woman to woman link to her mother that she had never experienced before. "Yes."

Daniel reached over to place his hands over theirs. "Go on," he said solidly.

Olympia swallowed. "I was preparing medications, and when he said that, I looked up one shelf and saw it. I turned and smiled at him, I said that might be negotiable. I filled the syringe as he moved in to kiss me. I used the kiss to keep him occupied until I could plunged it in his neck." She took a breath, her eyes narrowed. "And then I hid his body with the dirty laundry, until I could run down the hall to the morgue. I brought back a cart and wheeled him there. I left him, and no one was any wiser."

Daniel stroked her hand, then took her into his arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shook her head against his shoulder, tears glimmering down her cheeks. "It didn't seem important just then. And then we were so busy escaping, and by the time we were settled here, it seemed so very long ago, hardly worth bringing up. We were both settling in here, and I thought, 'let the dead bury the dead.' We were celebrating life. I left him behind where he belonged – in hell."

Margo swallowed hard, looking across the surf to give her parents some privacy, and herself some time to deal with her own reaction.

"Well," said Daniel softly, "I guess we're hardly the people to talk about what you do, Misha."

Margo turned to smile at him. "I guess not." She looked at her mother. "And you did what you had to do, Mom. Thank you."

Olympia frowned, confused. "For what?"

"For my life."

Her mother blinked, and Daniel kissed her hair. "That goes for me, too, dear."

Olympia sighed. "I'm glad I told you. But I wish…" She trailed off, looking at her daughter.

"You wish I wasn't doing this kind of job," Margo finished.

Her mother nodded. "Yes. Killing one man was incredibly hard, and living with it… I wish you hadn't had to do that." She shook her head. "You were so… deadly with that gun, and you were– are so much a part of this team… I just wish you were safe, that's all."

Margo stood and hugged her, then leaned over to her father and did the same. "I'm probably safer on a mission than on the LA freeways at rush hour, which is what I'd be facing twice a day if I was a diplomatic attaché."

That made them both smile, a small laugh in tow. "Well," said Daniel as he stood, "she came by it naturally, I know that." He looked down at his wife and tightened his grip as she rose. "She got it all from you."

"No," Margo said, her words beating her mother's by a heartbeat. "I got it from both of you."

She looked at them and smiled slowly, something Benny Ray had told her once echoing in her mind. She repeated it for them. "Truth has a way of staying with the blood, one way or another."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo watched her parents climb into the taxi, both of them waving at her as it started off. She lifted a hand to them, then dropped it to her belt as her beeper went off. Glancing down at the message, she sobered. _Matt._

She waved at her parents one more time, then turned to head back to the Silver Star, already shifting into mission mode.

 

The End

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
